


Space

by heidingaway



Category: Harry Potter - J.K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-17
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7798267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heidingaway/pseuds/heidingaway
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry makes waves and Draco fills the spaces left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this is going yet, and I will revise a lot as I go. Hold on to your hats.

Harry rolled over. His hand landed heavily on the cold side of the mattress. It's been a few years since he heard fond grumblings about his taking up the entire bed. He left the space empty out of habit now. 

It was restless night. He had more of those than he cared to admit. Especially to Hermione. She would probably fuss. She may finally follow through on her threats to physically deliver him to mind healer. 

His limbs were heavily entangled in fluffy comforter. Normally, the light pressure over his body was enough to filled uncomfortably large room. This night he still felt exposed - a gazelle in a plain. 

At 5am he gave up, and lit all the lamps with a wave of his wand. With an aborted attempt to comb his finger through his tangled mess of hair, he dragged his heavy body into the crisp morning air. Goose pimples sprouted down his arms. He groaned as he stretched his arms out and over his head, twisting around to pops along his back. 

First in the office as usual, Harry thought. 

The first noise of the morning was the £10 coffee maker he had hastily picked up from the shop around the corner. He has realized with shock and horror that cafes did not open until at least 6am. 

But he liked 5 am. It held the still optimism of good dreams, without the interruptions of other people's expectations. The dewy smell of morning was unpolluted by the build up of gasoline exhaust that would come once the morning rush picked up in earnest. 

Harry smiled warmly at the newspaper lady who occasionally tsk-ed over his dark circles. She could always be counted on to be earlier than him. Each morning, she set up at the same bus stop to hand out newspapers to harassed commuters. Each morning, Harry grabbed one from him though he rarely needed to know the Muggle news and tucked it under his elbow. He thought it completed his important business person commuter look anyway.

As he walked toward the underground, he felt the thrumming energy of the city. London slept even less than he did. 

Ron ribbed him on occasion about his preference to go the muggle way. But it cleared his mind before a long day. Besides, he was never in a hurry. 

It was meditative really, listening to the roars and bangs and screeches of the tracks. It kept the throbbing headache at bay. That would inevitably come when his admin, Morgan, brought in the fresh pile of paperwork which, if possible, was even larger than the one he'd finally just gone through. Morgan constantly reminded Harry that he would make his life easier if he did not insist on parsing every report with a fine tooth comb. 

It wasn't that he didn't trust his people. He trusted them with his life. But he also knew them. He knew them to be careless in their writing where they were careful in the field. Just as he was. He always found it odd that a bunch of wizard did not understand the power of words. 

"Morning, Potter."

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise. He managed to keep the weariness out of his voice as he said, "Morning, Jones. You're early."

The Daily Prophet had lost a lot of standing after the war. Several newspaper started up in its wake. Nicholas Jones was rising talent at one of the most recent and quickly rising newspaper, The Oracle. The paper which seemed to have found a foothold in a tough demographic - the under 30s. 

Harry really liked the kid. He was hard working and whip smart, but absolutely relentless. 

"You know what they say about the early birds?" Jones grinned toothily. 

"They get promoted to editor before the age of 25?" Harry supplied. 

"Only if Head Aurors would stop being so stingy about on the record comments."

"I'm hurt, how many Head Aurors do you speak to in a day?"

"Do you have a comment about Shacklebol's resignation?"

"Ah Jones, you're not even bothering to flirt today," Harry signed heavily. 

"Come on, Potter, give me something," 

Harry stopped in his tracks and looked at the younger man. Those grey eyes had a habit of making him feel lighter than air. Immediately, he felt silly. He was just a boy.

"I want to commend the Minister on his dedication to reform. His decision to resign is fully reflective of the promises he had made to be the last unelected Minister of Magic in the country. This will move us toward securing our community from falling once again into hands of the few."

Jones looked surprised.

"You mean - You Know Who?"

Harry frowned. "The world isn't divided into good people and Death Eaters. There are people in this world who would do just as much for power. We just don't see them so clearly when they're using words and connections and galleons rather than curses and threats.

I respect that the Wizengamot has always been responsible for the selection of the Minister for the last few centuries. I respect that they are our Elders and our source of wisedom. I do not dispute that they have given us sound laws and advice for the last few centuries. However, they lack accountability. When power is held in the hands of an unelected few, it's easy for that power to be captured and manipulated. We were lucky to have Shacklebolt who not only recognized it, but was brave enough to do something about it."

"What about the people that are calling this a betrayal of tradition?" Jones asked quickly.

"I push back on the idea that age makes a person wise and tradition makes flawed structures sacred." 

Jones said quickly, "I wasn't disagreeing -"

"I know," Harry interrupted, smiling. Then he added, "You can print that you know." 

Jones' incredulous face made Harry chuckle. 

"You're young, Jones, much younger than I am. But you're making waves. Why should the rest of us not make waves also?"

-

Harry slept well that night. He hummed cheerfully as his poured his usual dreadful cup of coffee. Jones was waiting in the courtyard outside his house. 

"You're a favourite, Potter." 

Harry snorted. "Of course, I am. No one has any creativity."

"You have someone in mind."

"No comment." 

Jones growled in frustration. 

"Come now, Jones, I heard you got a raise," Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

"Off the record then."

"Hermione Granger," Harry replied without a hesitation. 

"She's -"

"An outsider, exactly. That's the whole point."

"No chance," Jones replied, "Just because you think she's amazing."

"You almost sound jealous." 

"As if."

"She can get the support," Harry replied confidently, "Perhaps war hero carries no weight to you -"

"Not as much weight as your name. And you're better positioned."

"I have no aspirations, Jones."

"Can I print that?"

"Because you know everyone will think I'm playing coy?"

"Of course."

Harry grinned, "Throw Hermione's name out there."

"But -"

"You know she's more qualified. Her whole career has been fighting for Magical Law reform. Successfully too, I might add."

"Promise me another scoop."

Harry considered him for a moment. "Of my choosing."

"Done." 

"You know, Jones, I think I miss the early days when you would just trail after me like a puppy." 

Jones winked and disapparated. 

-

Hermione bit her lip, "Are you sure about this?"

Harry snorted, "I have never seen you doubt yourself before, Hermione. Don't you dare start now."

"We're all behind you on this, Hermione. Go give them hell," Ron gave her a squeeze where his arm was wrapped around her waist. 

She swallowed and nodded with resolve. 

"I'll be right in the front row, and Ron and Rose will be right by your side," Harry said soothingly.

Hermione nodded and pulled out her cue cards. She unnecessarily started to reread her speech.

Harry walked out of the back room to find his seat. He found his neighbour in the familiar shape of a stiff backed man with white blond hair slicked into a ponytail. He had not a single thread out of place and he held his chin high, though no nearly as petulantly as he had back in their school days. 

He sat down next to Draco Malfoy. He did not look around. 

"Potter," he said softly in acknowledgement. 

Harry jumped, pleasantly surprised. 

Harry supposed he should not have been surprised to see him there. In the last few weeks as, candidates presented themselves, Malfoy could be seen in the front row of every speech. Some courted his gold far more than the family name. The war did have some effect after all. But other candidate with thinly veiled platforms of restoring magical might saw no separation. 

Hermione's nerves about standing never got in the way of her strategy. Of course she's sought to invite one of the richest men in the country. 

The Malfoy had done a lot to reestablished themselves after the War. Harry's testimony at his and his mother's trials gave him a head start. And after all, galleons talked. From the little Harry had heard, there had been some very well placed conversations.

"You look well," Draco said softly. Harry jumped again. 

Draco stared firmly at the podium ahead of him. 

"You as well, Malfoy."

His angular face has softened from his teenage years, but his high cheek bones remained elegant. His clean shaven face made him look younger than their 36 years. 

Absentmindedly, Harry rubbed his hands over his stubbles.

"You brought your check book along, Malfoy?" Harry asked. 

Malfoy smirked. It was not the disdainful expression that he use to wear when he looked at others. It was smaller, more amused. Harry thought he looked more alive than he ever had in his younger years. 

"Potter, I'm simply window shopping."

Almost lazily, he finally turned to look at Harry. Harry felt a thrill of surprise as he met his grey eyes. 

"Many of my friends are concerned that her nanny state will robbed us blind."

"She's the most qualified and you know it." Harry shot back fiercely

"Oh I never denied that."

"Oh."

"Let's just say I'm interested in hearing Ms. Granger speak for herself. Or it it Weasley now?" 

"She hyphenates." Harry expected him to laugh derisively, but Malfoy simply inclined his head in acknowledgment. 

Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped up to the podium to give Hermione warm introduction. Harry grinned. He had no idea why they even debated inviting Shacklebolt. He brought a power and a calm to every room. 

Hermione's shoulders are square as she steps up to the podium. Not even a tremor betrayed her earlier nerves. 

"My fellow witches and wizards. Thank you all for joining us here today as we open the next chapter in our history. Together we will lay the foundation for a society where all children will be safe and free."

Harry let the words wash over him. He had Long memorized the words as Hermione grilled him on the phrasing over iteration. He turned his head a fraction of an inch and watched instead for Malfoy's reaction of the corner of his eye. 

Malfoy was keeping his face carefully expressionless, but there was something fierce and inexplicable in his eyes. Harry felt oddly warm in that room and he feared it may not be the bright lights that lighting up the front of the room. 

It was no good. He was not learning anything from his study of Malfoy's face. Though he could not help but notice the sloping curve of his pale lips and the tops of muscles in his neck that drew Harry's eyes down to his crisp collar. 

The chants of "Granger! Granger!" Snapped him out of it, but he did not move for a few more second. His shook his head and jumped to his feet, applauding. 

"You're not chatting, Potter," Malfoy wore that small amused smirk well. 

"That would be unseemly for a non-partisan public official," Harry replied breezily.

Malfoy laughed which surprised and pleased Harry. 

"Maybe you should not have been sitting in the front row at a major political speech then, Potter."

Harry smiled sheepishly, raising his hands in surrender. "Hey, we already know the ministry needs reform." 

Malfoy smiled at that and hummed in acknowledgment. 

"That's the benefit of being a hero, you know. No one questions you." He said drily. Then he hesitated. That seemed like the wrong thing to say. He hadn't mean to remind Malfoy of their position in the war.

"Still banging on about that Potter? Get over yourself." 

Relief flooded through him. 

"Going to cough up then?" Harry asked.

Malfoy raised his brow, but did not respond.


	2. Chapter 2

"Thank you for doing this, Harry," Hermione side-hugged him. "I'd say I wouldn't ask... but you know that's a lie."

She and Harry stood side by side in the entry way of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. A steady line of guests filed up the steps, brushing off their robes and removing their hats.

Harry was unused to seeing so many people in his home. He was usually so private - for good reason. He heard enough of George quoting at him the daily dissections of his every move in the gossip rags. He supposed the novelty of his invitation drew a lot of attention. That was probably Hermione's aim. Damn her brain.

Harry grinned, "Anything I can do to help. You deserve this, Hermione."

She beamed.

"Besides, I think everyone could use your meddling," Harry laughed, leaning out of her reach as she swatted at him good naturedly. "You've kept me and Ron in line all these years."

Hermione shook her head, smiling. She stepped forward to into a firm handshake with an important guest.

That is to say, they were all important guests. This was one of the most important nights of the campaign. The speech seemed to have gone over well based on strong preliminary polls, but they were dead in the water if they didn't have any donors.

Harry was careful to keep his smile genuine as some of the richest people in the country came through his threshold. It felt sort of surreal.

It was much different crowd than from the days before the War. Several of the disgraced old families had had their assets seized for the War Reparation Fund, on top of many family members jailed or killed. Just as many of them had the strategic sense to never openly declare their allegiance to any side. And others... well, just the Malfoys really, found their reprieve in Harry's testimony.

These days, the old families found themselves rubbing uncomfortable shoulders with new money - and with new blood. Postwar rebuilding projects coupled with a huge push to modernize the wizarding society in Britain were a boon for those fast enough to capitalize. Kingsley jumped feet first into launching several government back contracts. In part it made up for lack of Ministry resources, but also helped to divest the reliance on the Ministry that had built up through two wars. Last he had heard, Dean Thomas was cutting ribbons at the launch of his North American branch.

Harry supposed the only consolation he'll get is hearing indignant muttering about their gauche habits. Idly, he thought it may not have been strategy that kept them from choosing a sides; Voldemort lacked a certain elegance with his attempts at acceptance by Pure Blood Society too.

"I don't know why she's always so nervous before these things. She's a natural." Ron muttered over Harry's shoulder.

 

His hair was neatly gelled and he tugged uncomfortably at the collar of his new and stiffly pressed dress robes. Harry had feared Ron would hide upstairs all night. This was a change of scenery from his days spent in Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

"You never do as well on exams if you're not nervous," Harry quoted.

Ron laughed and shook his head.

"You know with all these people, do we really need," Ron looked at Harry significantly, "Malfoy?"

Harry nodded solemnly.

"What's the point of being an effing war hero if you still have to grovel at rich bastards’ feet?" Ron said in mock exasperation.

Harry snorted. “Well, maybe we can finally convince them to take down the damned statues then." He cringed at the thought of several ugly installations that had gone up during the 10th year anniversary celebrations.

"What exactly does Malfoy _do_?" Ron frowned.

Harry frowned too. "He... invests."

"So his job is to have a pile of galleons and spend it occasionally to get _more_ galleons?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Bloody hell, I'm in the wrong business."

Harry laughed.

They moved to the sitting room as the flow of guests slowed to a trickle of the fashionably late. He noted that Malfoy had not yet made an appearance.

Harry was astonished at how big the room looked now that it was full, and even more astonished that it was nearly over flowing. Some had chosen to take their seats early in the dining room to find some air. A dull roar of conversation was slowly being bolstered by the constant circulation of many waiterless trays covered in wine glasses. 

He spotted Hermione in conversation with a ruddy faced and jovial looking man. Harry thought through the stack of photos and notes in Hermione's hand about the guests of the evening. Leave it to Hermione to give them homework for a dinner party.

The man was an American called Theodore Bach, the owner and CEO of a global food conglomerate, Bach Companies Limited. Theodore Bach's Magically Sweet Ice Cream chain had taken over Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour a few years ago and had since opened 20 locations across the country.

There were many more foreign wizards in Britain now. Heavy casualties in the war and destruction meant loss of capital and skilled labour in the magical markets. International wizarding corporations moved to filled the gaps; workers relocated to seek their fortunes.

Harry snorted softly as he recalled his Uncle Dursley's rants about foreigners coming in to stealing jobs from his childhood.

Still, Harry knew it would be a fight Hermione would have take up soon. He remembered vividly the brawl at a Hogsmeade town hall meeting last month that had Magical Law Enforcement sending for Auror backup. Bach Company Ltd. had recently put in a building application for a one stop Wizarding Shop. He snorted, remembering the sarcastic reports he had read from the two Aurors who drew the short straw on responding. They broke up the fight within 2 minutes - the incident report took an hour.

To his mind, it was not really deniable that Shacklebolt's generous immigration and business policies has helped in a faster recovery. Furthermore, the foreigner wizards had brought with them big advances on the modernization front. A huge wave of new magical technologies was introduced that Harry suspected they would have been perfectly capable of developing except that they circumvented the atmospheric significance of dipping quills into inkwells by the candlelight. If nothing else, British wizards had style.

"Good evening, Potter," Malfoy said politely.

"If it isn't our favourite person in the world," Harry said, rather over the top.

"Oh turn it down a notch," Malfoy said, amused, "I came with gold in hand."

"Good man," Harry clapped him on the shoulder. Malfoy seemed surprised by the contact. Harry froze. Perhaps he was too familiar. He relaxed when Malfoy smiled.

"She made a compelling case," he shrugged.

"You surprise me, Malfoy."

"Time and a growing a spine does that to you," Malfoy sipped his wine.

Harry raised his glass in toast.

"It's been a few years, hasn't it?"

Malfoy did not respond. Harry had thought he should probably extract himself from the conversation. Malfoy seemed to only feel obligated to speak to him.

"My family and I took some time abroad," Draco said just as Harry was about to make his excuses.

"I didn't heard much about that," Harry replied. That seemed like a pointless thing to say. 

"We kept it quiet. Trying to let things cool off, you know, after."

There was an awkward pause. The war had a way of doing that, seeping into every tiny space in the room, unspoken and ever present.

"This is the Black house, you know." Harry cringed. Why would that be his best attempt at changing the topic?

"Yes, I know. I came here once when I was very young," Malfoy paused, "For Great Aunt Walburga's funeral."

Harry cringed again. It was definitely the wrong thing to say. He tried to put himself back on track by preaching Hermione's gospel.

"Will we see you on the campaign trail?" Harry asked.

 

"I can't see myself knocking on doors, Potter," Malfoy sounded almost apologetic.

"Oh well, that's all right, I suppose."

"I'll do everything in my power to help" Draco reassured.

"She deserves nothing less."

They were silent again. Harry must have drunk his wine without noticing, he grabbed another quickly from a passing tray. Malfoy copied his move. Harry was feeling rather warm in his high collared robes.

"I think I want some air," Malfoy said. He was rather pink around the cheeks too.

"My study's right down the hall," Harry gestured toward the door.

Malfoy nodded and followed.

Harry lit a lamp and opened a window with a flick of his wand. He walked toward the heavy oak desk at the side of the room. Malfoy was looking around curiously. He walked toward the bookshelf and ran his fingers down the spine of a thick volume.

"I never returned this." Harry held up the hawthorn wand.

Draco snorted, "I replaced it."

"I figured. You can have it back still. Sentimental value?"

Draco walked closer and took the wand in his hand.

His face fell slightly. He studied it, raising it up to the light. There were very few marks of use. Harry hadn’t even pulled it out to examine in the last few years.

"It’s rather typical, Potter.” Harry thought Malfoy was failing at looking nonchalant, “As soon as you won my wand, you go and kill the Dark Lord with it. How do the rest of us live up to that? Certainly put my failings into perspective."

"I-"

"Do you know what I had to do with this wand?" His voice had a hard edge. He stared hard at the bumps along the wood. He refused to meet Harry's eyes even though they were only feet apart.

Harry sighed. "N- yeah, I do."

Draco twitched, dropping it onto the ground.

"I saw into his head sometime, you know. I saw him order you-"

"You said I surprised you. If you know…if you saw, well, why would it surprised you that I support Granger?" He finally looked up. Harry felt fixed, rooted by the blazing look of Malfoy's eyes. "Did you think I liked it?"

“No. Malfoy, I saw him forcing you. You didn’t want to-“

“Did you expect me to turn into my father after all of that?”

Harry wasn't sure how they got there with Malfoy looking so vulnerable. He felt transported back to that day in a cold bathroom. The first time he ever saw a crack in that finely polished veneer. His stiff robes felt like a game of dress up. They were still those teenage boys, products of their upbringing. They read faithfully the parts written for them, playing a part in a more powerful wizard's game.

Harry didn’t know what to do with his hands. He trembled slightly as he reached and gripped Malfoy's shoulder. they just stood like that for a while. Silence was more comfortable. Harry was slightly afraid of what they could say. It felt like a life line. Harry remind himself that he was meant to be consoling Malfoy right now. Then soon, it didn't feel like enough.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "I'm not supporting her because I owe you, Potter."

Harry frowned, “You don't owe me-" Malfoy shook his head to stop him from interrupting. He drained his glass and seemed to get braver.

"I hated and blamed you for years. Did you know? I hated that you were so much stronger than I am. That you were brave enough to choose the right side. That you were brave enough to choose it over and over and over again. And even after of all of that, you were still brave enough to stand up in a courtroom and say you forgave me. You said you forgave me and you told everyone that I deserved forgiveness." Malfoy ran a hand through his pulled back hair. It strained against the tie and several strand fell out and around his face.

"I wanted to speak, you know. I wished I wasn't so disgustingly pitiful. But it was like I hadn’t stopped burning even though you pulled me from the fiendfyre. I was stuck. And I wished that I didn't just sit there, motionless, while you asked on my behalf.

I deserved to have begged for my own forgiveness. I should have been on my knees. They should have stripped me bare and stripped me further - flesh from bones. For a while... I wished I died for my sins. Then I hated you again because I remembered you that had already done that for all of us."

Harry made a strangled noise. He felt so helpless now. He stood there, still gripping Malfoy's shoulder. He gripped him too tightly now, as if holding them both upright. Selfishly, he did not want the burden of Malfoy's confession. He wanted to run away from the weight of his words, run right back to being alone at 5 a.m. where the world was simple.

"I stopped hating you." Malfoy’s chest was rising and falling quickly. He swayed, but was held in place by Harry. "I stopped hating you the day that my son was born. I held him in my arms, brand new and untouched by the world. I felt terror. I saw myself in him and I saw myself raising him just as my own father had done to make all of the wrong choices. So I made the first right choice I had ever made in my life. I chose to not decide.

I spent so much of my life blaming everything I had ever done on other people because I never had to feel the weight of my actions. I feel it now, Potter. All of it. Every morning I wake up and it's so heavy I can't breathe. I made all of the wrong choices for my entire life. And I finally accepted them as my own choices. As I choose now to accept my son for his. No matter what they are."

“So what happens now?”

Draco laughed humourlessly, “You know what’s funny? Even after all of that I lost him. Astoria is keeping him in France.”

“She’s …?”

“She thinks I’m unfit.”

“Are you?”

“I must be.”

“So you’ve come back here?”

"I realized something else.”

“Oh?”

“I don’t want forgiveness, Potter." Malfoy snapped, "I want to make atonement."

 The force of Malfoy’s declaration left behind a space that no words felt important enough to fill. They stood there a while, veins thrumming with alcohol, lost in the years. Harry felt that perhaps his universe was inhabited by two, the ones left behind. Many years ago, the war had entered his soul like parasite. It carved out his insides and feasted on any bit of good in his life for its own. Every day he got up and went to work and followed the script because he had no clue how to alter the course.

 Malfoy moved first. He offered his hand for Harry to shake. Harry was surprised, but shook without a thought. 

Harry thought back on the course of the last few weeks. He had wondered what madness had overcome him talk to Jones that day. As Malfoy grinned back, Harry thought it was a distress signal that had finally been answered.


End file.
